


Weekend At Joe's

by casstayinmyass



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Weekend At Bernie's Fusion, Anxiety, Canon Universe, Corpses, Debauchery, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Kissing, Larry's Got A Crush, M/M, Mr Brown Is Basically Quentin, Murder, Older Man/Younger Man, Secrets, Sexual Tension, Smoking, Somebody Help Mr. Pink, Summer Romance, Weekend At Bernie's AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-11 15:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17449469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: When White, Brown, and Pink find their boss dead at the beach house he invited them to, they realize they must pretend their Joe is still alive for the weekend during parties and visits. Holdaway sends Freddy on a work-mandated leave, and lets him borrow his vacation home, which happens to be situated right next to the Cabot summer home. The young cop gets a little more than he bargained for when he meets Larry (aka his next sugar daddy) next door, and tries to figure out just what the hell they’re hiding.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm giving names to the nameless Dogs! I read a RD fic on wattpad once where the author gave them these names citing that she discovered these were their actual names, but whatever the case, I think these are fitting!

The elevator in the upscale, West Hollywood building dinged. Brown, Pink, and White got off, and stood in front of the Cabots’ secretary. He didn’t bother telling them to wait this time—the last time he had tried that with Larry, the shape of all of his fingers were threatened.

The walk to the office was tense, but not completely devoid of conversation—Brown always saw to that.

“If I get dropped, I’m gonna go straight.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pink muttered, “I’ve heard this one before.”

“Nah, I’m gonna become a writer. I’m gonna write a fuckin movie.”

“About what? About how you were sacked from the one job where you literally don’t gotta do anything but be a piece of shit?” White shot back.

“Which you’re too good at to give up that easy,” Pink pointed out.

“Hey, that’s a good idea man,” Brown took out a small notepad, which White promptly slapped out of his hand. Dirty scowls were exchanged, and Pink wrung his hands out.

“Damn, this is fucking nerve-wracking.”

“I’m sure it’s gonna be fine,” White laughed, “Quit squirming around about it. Joe just wants to talk.”

“So close to the last job?” Pink asked, continuing his nervous shifting. Brown pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and Pink frowned.

“When did you start smoking?”

“Oh no, I stole these from a corner store a month ago. There was a sign that said minimum $5 purchase, so I thought the same would apply to the stick of gum I was gonna steal.”

White took one look at him, and huffed his disbelief, walking on ahead. Brown offered one to the tall, thin criminal beside him, but Pink shook his head.

“I’m… trying to quit.”

“Mr. Cabot will see you now,” the secretary said, and Pink swallowed.

“On second thought, bum me a dart.”

White focused them by knocking on the door to their boss’s large office.

“Come on in!” Joe tapped his knuckles impatiently as the three filed in. “Fellas. Take a seat, pour yourself a drink.”

“Shit, this is bad,” Pink muttered, dragging on his smoke, “Is it bad?”

“As opposed to good?” White hissed. “What’s the deal?” he asked, and Joe sat back.

“Well, boys. I figured it was time.”

“Brown, you were right,” Pink started to get back up.

“Sit down, ya shifty bastard!” Joe barked, and Pink quickly did so. “After all these jobs, I tend to pick favorites. If you hadn’t noticed, you boys are my go to guys. The first job we worked—the diamond store—I realized I really had a pack of winners here, real swell fellas I could trust. Would’ve been a shame to let you go your separate ways after that, so I figured… well, all these jobs later, it’s not such a bad idea to get a little friendlier.”  

“What do you mean?” Brown asked.

“If you’d shut the fuck up, I could finish my fucking sentence and tell you,” Joe shot back, and folded his hands over his desk. “Names. Where you’re from. Who your sports team is, I don’t care. What I’m trying to say it, you boys don’t gotta keep the shroud of secrecy around y’any longer.”

“Okay so my real name is Dennis Coonstock, my favorite movie is Taxi Driver, and if you’re at all interested I can tell you about the dissertation I once wrote for college about how 9/11 was an inside job—” Brown began, but White cut him off.

“Not interested.”

“You went to college?” Pink frowned.

“Hold on, you schoolgirls. Before you three start sucking each other’s dicks, I didn’t mean right now,” Joe grumbled, “I had another reason. See that picture there?” The three looked over to the wall where Joe was pointing, to see the framed photo of a beach house, within it Joe and an attractive blonde were standing together. They all nodded. “Bought that pretty thing after a successful caper out in Eagle Ridge.”

“Were the tits extra?” Dennis joked. Joe’s head slowly turned back to him.

“That’s my son’s dead mother, you fuckin’ shitbird!”

Dennis cringed, sinking lower into his chair, and White resisted the urge to laugh at that man’s affinity for saying the wrong goddamn thing in every situation.

“I was talkin’ about the house, of course. That’s one of my vacation homes, down in Santa Monica. Now I love you boys like sons—” He threw Dennis a weary look, “Even though some of ya make me wanna push daisies. I just wanted to show you how much I appreciate your loyalty to me. I’m heading down for the weekend. Was just gonna be me to catch a break, but last minute I figured aw, what the hell. I wanna invite you three along.”  

“To your luxury beach house,” Pink deadpanned.

“To my luxury beach house.”

“Papa, that’s generous,” White smiled, taking a sip of his scotch.

“Not at all, Junior. Not at all. You boys come down, oh, about four o’clock Friday, sound good? I’ll have guest rooms made up for the three of you. Let me tell you, it’s a good time. Women, booze, any kinda high you’re lookin’ for, we got it all down at mine. You pulled an airtight caper last week, and you deserve a good time on my dime. It’s a good place to lay low too, and after the ice we lifted on that last job? This’ll kill two birds with one stone.”

The three walked out of Joe’s office in silence, until Pink spoke up.

“Mark.”

“Huh?”

“Mark Nussy. That’s my name.”

“Hey _Mark_ ,” Dennis shoulder checked him, “Yeah, you look like a Mark.”

“I… thanks?” The two turned to the last man, who looked over. “That just leaves you, White.”

White nodded. “Yes.”

“C’mon, what’s your name?”

“Alright! Lawrence Dimmick. Those close to me call me Larry.”

“Hey Larry!” Dennis grinned, slinging an arm around his neck, and Larry let it fly this time—it was going to be a fun weekend, he couldn’t deny that.

Across the hall in Eddie’s office, Vic Vega sat on the edge of the blonde’s desk.

“You look bad.”

“Shut it.”

“No, you look atrocious.”

“Big word, Victor.”

“Want me to spell it?” Vic grinned, and Eddie whipped around.

“Asshole, I’m on the phone, I mean it! Gonna fucking shoot you if you don’t shut up for a second—no, of course I didn’t mean you, Mr. Nakigowa— Mr--! fuck. He hung up.”

“You never did know how to handle over-the-phone business,” Vic shrugged playfully, and Eddie raised his eyebrows.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you’d better get yourself a pretty little secretary who can fit ten pens in her hairdo and write twenty words a second.”

“And be the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Eddie smiled, and Vic placed a hand on his chest.

“Now Eddie, if you wanted to hire me, all you had to do was ask.” Eddie shoved him off the desk, and Vic brushed himself off, laughing. “Now that you’re off the line, I have to ask. What the hell is that you’re wearing?”

“What?”

“What you’re wearing,” Vic repeated. Eddie looked down at his purple velvet suit.

“You sabotaged my business deal to ask me what I’m wearing?”

“Yes.”

“I… It’s something daddy told me looked smart!”

Vic slid off the desk. “Smart as in, ready to pimp my girls?”

“What’s wrong with lookin’ like a pimp?! Least I look like I’ve got cash, you just look like a bum just dragged himself out of the sewer in that old white t-shirt.”

“Look. You gonna let Joseph tell you what to wear forever?”

Eddie gave him a look, and sat down behind his desk. “Course not.”

“Well, you’re 30,” Vic shrugged.

“What the fuck’s that got to do with it?!” Eddie asked, beginning to grin, “You got something to say, Vic?”

“I do, actually,” the ex-con nodded, and sat down across from Eddie. “When are you gonna take over the business?”

Eddie got to dialing a new number on the landline, holding the phone between his shoulder and his ear. “What are you, an idiot? When daddy kicks the bucket, you know that!”

Vic tilted his chin up. “And…” He rubbed his hands together, leaning in and using the unlit cigarette behind his ear to hang the phone line up. “How much longer is that clock gonna tick?”

Eddie stared right back, letting the phone drop down into his hand. “You’re not suggesting what I think you are, Victor.” Vic opened his arms.

“Eddie, you gotta take opportunity when it’s presented to you.”

Eddie scoffed. “What opportunity?! Daddy ain’t sick! It’s not like I can stuff a pillow over his fucking face and say oops, poor old man had himself an accident!”

“No. But he travels so much for work, the next time he leaves, we get him. He’s a crime lord. He’s got so many enemies, he’s got enemies coming out his asshole, the pigs’ll never be able to pin down who finally offed the man in the end, the case’ll be put to bed for the sole reason they’re just so fuckin’ glad somebody took him down before he escaped to Mexico for good.”

Eddie actually thought for a moment. “You’re a madman, you know that?”

“It’s my specialty,” Vic said, and slapped Eddie’s cheek. “That’s why you love me.”

“Look, before you get all hot shit on me, the _company_ would be in anarchy. No one would know what the fuck to go do with themselves, everyone would be running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”

“You’d take charge.”

“Victor, you’ve said it yourself. I can’t take charge of shit. I let the hookers I pay for tie me to beds because I can’t take charge of shit. My head’s up my ass half the time, I wouldn’t know the first thing from the last thing.”

“I bust your balls for the hell of it, and you know it. You know how to manage people. You know how to delegate.” The brunette hopped down off the desk. “So, delegate. What do you want me to do?” Vic took a straight razor out of his boot, and Eddie looked at it, then down to the schedule he had on his desk. It was filled with pointless tasks, basically likening him to a personal assistant to his father. Thinking of all the money he’d make as head of the operation, his jaw clenched. Maybe his best friend was onto something here.

“Alright. First act of business— daddy’s going to the beach house this weekend. I think he’ll be alone, he said.” Eddie sat there for a good minute, staring vacantly ahead until he nodded. “Do your thing, call me when it’s done.”

Vic smiled, and nodded, pretending to shave his face playfully with the razor. 

“And no torture, you sadistic piece of shit!”

“Eddie,” Vic admonished, patting the doorframe, “I have too much respect for Joseph to _try_ it.”

\----

Over across town at the LAPD bureau, Freddy Newandyke signed another paper for a witness testimony to his latest arrest, plunked it down onto a pile, and looked at his watch, sweat from the late afternoon heat of East LA rolling down his temples. He was overtime already, but he had to get through these by morning, maybe even stay over into Saturday if he wanted to be back out in the field by Monday—

“Newandyke!”

Freddy snapped his head up. “Sir?” He grimaced from the hot ash he dropped into his lap, and remembered he had a cigarette dangling from his lips. He quickly crushed what was mostly ash, and wiped himself off. “Sir.”

Holdaway laughed, shook his head, and opened the door to his office. “Don’t sir me, get y’ass in here.” Freddy reached over, took a sloppy bite of his Big Kahuna burger from lunch, and walked in. He immediately opened his arms, swallowing the massive bite of fast food.

“Awww, fuck! Air conditioning.” He knelt in front of the fan, lifting his collar and letting the cool air in.

“You take ya shirt off in my office, I’ll make you sign your own arrest papers,” Holdaway joked, and Freddy gave a lazy salute.

“Yes sir.” He sat down.

 “How long you been working today?” the chief asked him, and Freddy thought.

“11 hours,” he concluded.  

“11 goddamn hours. You crazy?”

“Nah, I’m just busy,” Freddy sighed, leaning back.

“How about this. You ain’t busy no more—you’re kicking back this weekend in my vacation home with a nice big yacht and a stocked bar.”

“Great joke,” Freddy smirked, “Real nice. Can I get back to work now?”

“No, you may not!” Holdaway raised his eyebrows. “I’m serious, Newandyke. You been working too hard—you’re just gonna up and pass out on one of these jobs I send you on, and if you’re dead, you can’t be my best undercover cop no more.”

Freddy sat forward. “Lemme get this straight. You’re gonna give me your beach house for the weekend because I look burnt out, and… you don’t want me to die?”

“You look like the goddamn wind could blow you over, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Now it’s down in Santa Monica. You’ve got jet skis, pretty girls... pretty _boys_... pretty boys in tight swimwear, if that's watcha into--"  

"Alright, that's enough,” Freddy grinned, “You've completely sold me, sir."

Holdaway grinned back. “That’s what I like to hear.”

As the young cop exited his boss’s office, he couldn’t believe his luck. He also got some satisfaction from feeling that rookie Nash’s jealous glare, hot as the sticky air, on him as he packed his things—it felt good to be the chief’s best.

 _Santa Monica. Vacation home. Hot one night stand._ Freddy hadn’t gotten laid in forever—he’d been working too hard. Of course, he’d be just as happy laying in the hot sand with the cool Pacific touching his toes, and the sexy older man with a dangerous squint he would inevitably flirt with would just be… y’know, a bonus.


	2. Chapter 2

Joe got out of the back of his black Cadillac, and slipped his sunglasses on. He didn’t know what his idiot son was up to with Toothpick Vic, but it had seemed odd when Eddie had declined his offer to accompany him down to the beach house. Eddie usually loved it down here—partying, whoring, drinking, all that good stuff the boy loved. Ah, well. Joe could get a little peace without him. At least, until Larry, Curly, and Moe arrived.

Larry himself wasn’t bad. Joe and “Mr. White” had gone back years, and always seemed to see eye to eye on things. Mark wasn’t terrible either, just a little fidgety, a little neurotic, but that kept him on his toes, and he was probably the classiest act in staying professional through it all. Dennis… well, the kid was a rambunctious lunatic, but Joe couldn’t say he didn’t have a soft spot for him. Being a lunatic really helped with dodging traffic too, and that was beneficial for a getaway driver.

Opening the door to his huge, two story beach house, Joe already felt relaxed from the sound of the waves and the view he could see. Approaching the floor to ceiling glass windows, he stared out… and heard footsteps behind him.

“Who’s there?” he asked gruffly, turning around, “Just ten minutes to myself, is that too much to ask?”

Vic put his hands up. “Sorry. Just me.”

“Oh,” Joe nodded, gesturing to a seat, “Siddown, Vic, make yourself comfortable.” He poured a glass of whiskey for himself, then for the younger man. Vic accepted with a gracious nod, and studied his boss silently. “So. To what do I owe the pleasure of you coming down to Santa Monica? Jealous I didn’t invite you too?”

Vic laughed. “What do you mean?”

“The other—” Joe just waved his hands. “Ah, nevermind. I take you and my sorry son to Vegas for business every time I have to fly there, that’s enough.”

“You got that right,” Vic nodded, “Joseph, you’ve… you’ve given us so much over the years. Treated me like a son, fostered Eddie into a strong young man.”

“Fostered him into an idiot, ‘s what I done,” Joe huffed, taking a sip of his drink. “But you. You’ve got brains, Vic. You do.”

Vic nodded again. “Thanks. Really, thank you.”

Joe watched the man swish his drink around, but refrain from drinking it. This raised suspicions. “What’s on your mind?”  

“How do you think Eddie’ll be, running the company?”

Joe cocked his head. “Well, I tell my jokes and have my fun at his expense. But I’ve raised him well enough to know what to do. He’s a fine kid.”

Vic got up. “Yeah. I guess we’ll find out sooner rather than later.”

“What d’you mean?” 

Vic reached down into his boot, and took his razor out. “Sorry I gotta do this, Joseph. I respect you, and think of you as a father. But ultimately— Eddie’s gotta do what Eddie’s gotta do.”

“What the—” Joe started to mutter, looking down to the glint of the blade.

“I’m gonna kill you now,” Vic informed the surprised crime boss, and spun Joe’s chair around to face the window, lifting his chin up and taking care of it. As Joe squirmed in his seat and held his neck, Vic closed the curtains. “Well,” the killer remarked, cleaning his blade off on his black pants, “Not exactly painless, but I couldn’t risk a gunshot. Adios, Papa.”

Making sure the door was shut firmly, Vic left, heading off to find a good place to bury the body around the property that wouldn’t wash him out to sea. He stopped at a payphone on his way, plunking in a dime.

“Eddie? It’s me. Done like dinner.”

\---

“Ah! Feel the warmth of the beating sun, boys!” Dennis grins, opening his arms, “Burn me to a crisp, mother nature, I’m ready for you baby.” He was dressed in a red Hawaiian shirt, with his sunglasses and flip flops on.

“This is an hour away from where you live in the shitty basement apartment you forced me to watch a movie in, it’s the same weather here,” Mark shot back, rubbing globs of spf 60 sun block into his face.

“For once, I agree with Tweedle Dum,” Larry announced, bringing his arms around the two, “I’m a changed man when I reach the ocean, and this sunshine breeze is beautiful.”

“You’re both so sappy,” Mark shrugged Larry’s arm off him, emptying the rest of the sunblock onto his arms.

“You should try it sometimes, I hear smiling once in a while dislodges the pole up your ass,” Dennis commented, and Mark almost took out his gun before Larry reminded them they were trying to stay out of trouble, not get thrown in jail.

“Where is this place anyway?” Mark asked.

“On the hill, Joe said,” Larry told them, and they walked toward the pier. Dennis whistled as two girls on bikes passed them, and sighed.

“Jesus CHRIST I am getting so fucking laid this weekend. This week, all these girls are gonna get is dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick dick.”

“How many dicks is that?” Mark asked.

“A lot,” Larry huffed.

“Yeah. Well-- please take the room farthest away from me,” Mark said.

They all approached the large vacation home, better in person even than it seemed in the picture. They entered one by one, calling for their host.

“Joe!” Larry shouted, “We’re here!”

Dennis walked right over to the bar, and untwisted the top on a bottle of champagne.

“Don’t touch that!” Mark hissed.

“We’re guests!” Dennis waved him off, and looked at the label. “Ooh, Cristal.”

“No, bad—put the champagne back,” Mark sighed, and Dennis lifted it.

“It’s not champagne you heathen, okay, this is fucking CRISTAL.”

“Don’t… don’t shake it—hey! Don’t shake it like that! WAITDENNIS, DON’T—”

The cork hit the bar and smashed the mirror behind it, and both men grimaced. When the noise was over, Mark snatched the bottle angrily, chugging what little had not blown up all over the walls.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Larry walked back in, “Pair of fucking children, that’s what you are!”

“Like _you_ wouldn’t have tried the Cristal,” Dennis moped, kicking a piece of shattered mirror, and Larry groaned.

“Look… you’re cleaning that up later, not me, not Nussy. But first thing’s fuckin last—I can’t find Joe.”

“You can’t find him?” Mark asked, shoving past them, “He’s gotta be in here somewhere, we couldn’t have just lost a man.” He cupped his hands. “JOE! Me and him go back a long fuckin’ time, and he doesn’t like leaving people alone in his places.”

“I couldn’t imagine why,” Larry snorted, staring at a drenched Dennis.

“Something’s definitely rotten in Denmark,” Mark shook his head, and Dennis suddenly put his hand up.

“Oh hey guys, it’s okay, I found him. Joe! Hey, um, sorry I blew up your bar, but it’s totally cool if you wanna like… take it out of my next cut, I really don’t m…”

He trailed off, making the other two look over.

“What is it?” Larry asked.

“Holy shit.”

“What is it?!” Mark repeated, and went over. “Oh my god.”

“Assholes, start talking!”

“He’s… he’s—” Dennis stuttered. Mark just stared.

“What are you, a fuckin’ silent partner?! Tell me!” Larry stormed over, and nearly had a heart attack. “Oh, shit.”

“I haven’t seen this much blood since the Red Wedding,” Dennis sighed. Mark put his hands on his hips, staring up at the sky.

“My only question is why. Why me? Why do these things always happen to me?”

“Alright,” Larry whispered, “We… we have to… clean this mess up. And do something about the body.”

“Imagine what Nice Guy’s gonna do when he finds out,” Mark shook his head, “He’s gonna want bloody revenge. Bloodier than this. Who’s gonna tell him?”

“Fuck that,” Dennis stuck a finger on his nose.

“Nobody’s telling anybody anything,” Larry held his hands up, “We’ve gotta get this body outta here. Now I know a guy—he knows my brother, Jimmy. Lemme get him on the phone.”

While Pink had a meltdown and Dennis stared, transfixed, at Joe’s open wound, Larry did something useful and dialed the one man who could always be counted on to take care of problems.

“Mr. Wolf?” Larry said into the phone, “Larry Dimmick. Yeah, Jimmy’s brother. I realize you’re a very busy man, but we’ve got a problem. Santa Monica.” He paused. “Compton? Until Monday?” Larry sighed. “That’s shitty. No chance of you coming back a little early, huh?”

“Fuck. We’re so positively fucked in the ass,” Mark muttered, pacing.

“The artery is still producing excretion,” Dennis commented.

“Okay. Thanks for your time anyway. I’ll be sure to do that.” Larry hung up the phone, and ran a hand through his hair. “No luck. Bad news is, he was the one guy I knew who could do something like this on the down low. Anyone else got any bright ideas?”

“Yeah, see that Ferris Wheel over there?” Mark pointed, “I say we walk over, buy a ticket, wait until we get to the very tippy top and fucking jump off it.”

“We can’t call the cops,” Larry mused, “I say we just walk away, like we were never here.”

“What, are you crazy, man?! Our fingerprints are all over this god damn place!” Mark protested, “Plus…” he glanced over at the destroyed bar, “That.”

Larry and Mark sat down on the couch.

“Joe’s probably got people coming over for parties all the time,” Pink groaned, holding his head, “Everyone’s gonna think we did it!”

“Hey! Quit staring at him, you sick bastard!” Larry barked at Dennis, who shook his head.

“Bad way to go, man. We should put him in a scarf at least, that’s a full Columbian Necktie.”

Suddenly, Mark got an idea.

“Okay. Now—now hear me out, this is gonna sound crazy, fuckin’ insane, I know, but it just might work. We can’t call the cops. We can’t call the wolf. We can’t call anybody, because we’ll be fucking arrested if we do, but—Joe’s got people coming over to his house all the time, like I said, but in order to stop ourselves from being indicted, we only have one true option.” He looked at the two, taking a deep breath. “Pretend Joe’s alive.”

Larry reached forward, and started dialing the phone.

“Who are you calling?” Mark asked.

“A psychiatrist.”

“I’m serious. This is the only way we might be able to get out of this scott free.”

Larry thought about it, and realized as much as he hated even the idea of what Mark was suggesting, the little weasel was right. It was the only out they had, if they had one at all at this point.

As those two got to cleaning up the area of all the blood, Dennis frowned.

“Didn’t all this shit happen in that movie, Weekend at Bernie’s?”

“Not now, Brown!”

\----

From just outside, Vic hummed Stuck In The Middle With You to himself as he approached the house again. He had found the perfect little sandy dune to bury Joe in, where no one would ever find the body. And if they did decades from now, it would only help police, as he had told Eddie.

Hopping back up onto the deck, he hesitated, and jogged over to the wall, listening in.

_“Why do I have to use my shirt?!”_

_“Because you popped the cork and got your prints all over the place!”_

_“This is why you’re a getaway driver, not crowd control.”_

Vic frowned, heartbeat picking up. Had Joseph invited others? Eddie hadn’t mentioned that part… unless Joe hadn’t mentioned it to Eddie.

He hurried just down the way to the payphone, and leaned against the glass as Eddie picked up.

“Eddie?”

“What is it, Victor, I’m very busy, daddy just died.”

“We’ve got an issue, genius. Come down here.”

“What?! What, is he still kicking?”

“No. Three guys found him. They’re gonna blab, they sound like real idiots. We’ve gotta take care of them.”

“So what do you need me for? Take care of it.”

“Edward, you lazy fuck, get your ass down here.”

“Fine. I’ll see you in an hour.”

\-----

Freddy gawked at the house in front of him, and wondered if the keys had the wrong address on them. He had never seen a place so big in his life—not one he was about to walk into, anyway.

Letting himself in, he just couldn’t pick his jaw up. It really was nice, and frankly, Freddy had no idea how Holdaway could even afford something like this, but he supposed being a police chief had its perks.

Hesitant to touch anything that looked remotely breakable, he set his things down on the couch softly, and looked around. Wait… what was he doing? C’mon! He was supposed to be chilling! Having a good time! It’s not like his boss had cameras that watched his every move.

He shrugged his jacket off, and kicked off his shoes, flopping down onto one of many couches, putting his feet up and his hands behind his head.

“Yeah, bring me one of those coronas. Yeah, chop chop. And some cheetos too. Don’t forget the fruit loops. Huh honey? Yep, place is all mine. I look too young to afford something like this? Well… hard work is key. Also, I’m like, super cool.”

From his office back in LA, Holdaway sighed, shutting off the live feed of his beach house.

“It’s a damn miracle that kid hasn’t gotten himself killed yet.”

Freddy sighed, imagining some hot guy bringing him a beer and cracking it open with his pecs… then remembered that there was in fact, no hot guy yet, and he had to do it himself. Swinging himself up, he jogged over to the mini bar, and got a cold one, taking a swig and leaning against the counter.

“This is the life,” he remarked to no one, and looked outside. Beautiful day. Waves were rolling. People walking by, waving. Pool glistened outside. He couldn’t wait to find his first party that night.


End file.
